


the hunters' musk

by seinmit



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Bucky Barnes, Bitching, Come Eating, Creepy Alexander Pierce, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Discipline, Drugged Sex, F/M, Forced Feminization, Gags, Gangbang, HYDRA Trash Party, Humiliation, Inflation, Large Amounts of Alpha Semen Turns Betas into Omegas, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Kink, Mindfuck, Multi, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Transformation into Omega, Omega Bucky Barnes, Past Brainwashing, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Stuffing, Torture, alpha alexander pierce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seinmit/pseuds/seinmit
Summary: The Winter Soldier grows too erratic for his primary function. Pierce starts the procedure to make him suitable for a new one.





	the hunters' musk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imshael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imshael/gifts).

> I hope this fits what you were looking for, imshael! As you can see, I found your prompt very inspiring. 
> 
> If the tags didn't clue you in, this is a very dark fic. A lot of very bad, bad things happen to Bucky. Treat that as warning or advertisement, as you will.
> 
> Thank you to G. for saving me from typos.
> 
> Title from [Forgiving the Darkness by Alice B. Fogal](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/91911/forgiving-the-darkness)

Soft hands nudged the asset’s chin up and he obediently tilted his head back. He was kneeling, surrounded by an unknown number of people. He was dressed in the loose, soft clothes they kept him in for the interstitial times between mission and ice. His feet were bare.

“Tell me more about the malfunctions,” Pierce said. 

His most recent STRIKE team commander cleared his throat and started listing off his sins. He listened vaguely, the specifics bringing to mind flashes of sensation more than memory. 

Apparently, he had wandered off while he was infiltrating a party. Once they found him, he fought when they tried to get him into the van. 

That both sounded very much like something he would do and nothing at all like him. It was hard to keep his mind engaged when Pierce’s hand kept touching his skin, little presses to his cheekbone and temple. His fingertips tapped a little bit, like the asset was a desk toy to fidget with. 

“This is part of a larger pattern of erratic behavior,” a woman said. “There are reasons for concern in more missions than not. At this point, I’d advise against anything that requires independent action, much less complex decision-making.” 

“What does that leave us?” Pierce said. “What is the use of an assassin that cannot work alone?” 

“He can function as a sniper, sir,” she said. “Or we can set him loose on a crowd. That isn’t the most common tactic, but he can go through bodies like a chainsaw.” 

“Vivid,” Pierce said, voice dry. “But not quite the sort of thing that a ghost does.” 

He grabbed the asset’s hair and yanked. His eyes, which had drifted closed out of inattention, snapped open and focused on a point near Pierce’s chin. He had learned to show the appropriate deference. 

“What are we going to do with you, soldier,” Pierce said. “All that technology wasted because you haven’t got a brain.” 

The asset said nothing. 

Pierce used his grip to tilt the asset’s head this way and that, examining. 

“Hmm,” he said. “Well. I guess since we no longer need you to be subtle, it opens up another set of opportunities entirely.” 

Pierce released the asset’s hair, but the asset carefully stayed locked in the same position. He pressed his thumb against the asset’s lower lip. 

This close to the scent gland on Pierce’s wrist, he could smell the alpha musk of him—animalistic and dark. To his nose, though, it had a powdery, alienating finish. He wasn’t the sort of thing that scent was supposed to attract. 

Pierce pushed his thumb into the asset’s mouth and the asset obediently opened wide, assuming that he was wanting to check his teeth. 

“No, closed,” Pierce corrected, but gently. 

“Suck,” he said, and the asset did. 

He had used a hand lotion that tasted bitter, some time in the recent past. 

In a few moments, Pierce retrieved his hand from the asset’s mouth and patted him on the head like a dog. 

“Upon consideration,” Pierce said. “This shift will do nicely.”

* * *

The asset climbed onto the table and let them move his feet into the stirrups. They buckled him in six point restraints—heavy unlined metal strapping his ankles, wrists, chest, and right above his groin. The metal scraped with an unpleasant sound against his left arm. 

He was unsurprised by this. He had lately been uncooperative for medical procedures. They had started to chafe, in the same displeasing way that the metal of these restraints was digging into his skin. He kept finding himself trying to shake off the technicians and breaking people’s bones. 

He was naked, which was somewhat unusual. A small woman pushed a modified Whitehead gag into his mouth and buckled it around the back of his head. She ratcheted his mouth open using the levers at the side until his lips stretched and drool leaked out of the corners of his mouth. 

His head was low and hips high. It was an unusual position for him. 

His heart rate picked up. There were more people in this room than usual, a lot more. Maybe twenty, if his situational awareness was working right. Some of them were people he vaguely recognized, but most were not. Most, but not all, of them were men. Underneath the familiar antiseptic scent of the medical facility, he could smell a lot of alphas. 

“What’s the point of this?” a man grumbled. It was one of his usual technicians. “Since when are we a fetish club?” 

“Quiet,” another hissed. “Pierce is going to get here any second. And anyway, the biopsy of his undeveloped ova suggests the serum breeds true.” 

“I don’t know why you are complaining,” a third man. “We are going to get paid to get off as many times as we can.” 

“_You_ are, maybe,” the first man said. 

“Aww, I see,” said the third. “Buddy, no one will notice if some beta come slips in there. It won’t have any effect on the procedure.” 

Several people laughed. 

The woman who had put on his gag injected him in the meat of his thigh. 

“Is that the estradiol?” someone asked. 

“Yep,” she said. “Enough to make him seriously queasy, if he was human.” 

“That worried about the procedure taking?” 

“They told me to give him a hundred times the normal dose, so I’d say so,” she said. She patted his thigh and the gesture flashed an image of a woman in a white ward dress and white nurse’s cap, clinically injecting him with a tetanus vaccine. 

He felt the echo of the burn in his veins. 

“Thanks, doll,” he mumbled around the gag and the woman froze. 

After a long silence, someone laughed. 

“This is why he’s being reassigned,” a voice said. “His head is scrambled eggs.” 

“You just volunteered to be the one to open him up,” the woman said, moving out of the asset’s line of sight. “We don’t want him to tear.” 

A groan, but the man appeared to comply and came to the asset. He was holding a long thin object that almost looked like a child’s toy facsimile of a hypodermic needle. He went between the asset’s legs and shoved the tip of the object into the asset’s ass, plunging down and filling him with slick coolness.

Two lubricated fingers pressed roughly into his ass and his hips shifted, despite himself. It stung, but it wasn’t the pain that startled him. None of this was usual protocol. 

The fingers worked him, opening up and manipulating his inner muscles. In unpredictable flashes, heat jolted up his spine. There was no real rhythm to it and before long, he pulled out and slapped the assets thigh wetly—a much louder echo of the woman’s touch. 

“Now we wait for the boss,” the man said cheerfully. “And no one comments on him demanding first dibs.” 

“What comment would you make?” Pierce said, dry. The asset couldn’t see him, but he recognized the voice. It was the only voice he seemed to be able to persistently put a name to. 

“Sorry, sir,” the man said. He sounded strangled. 

“No, no,” Pierce said. “I’m interested.” 

Pierce’s voice came from between the asset's legs and he shifted a little, trying to see. He could see his body, the nice dark suit and light hair. 

The metal sound of a buckle being undone, the slip of leather through loops, and clicking from undoing a zipper. 

“This is being framed as a medical procedure, sir,” the man said. “But it seems uh, pointed. That you’d want to personally participate.” 

The asset knew it was a mistake, to take Pierce at his word when he asked for answers. He had learned that. Even if nothing was said now, Pierce would not forget.

“Call me sentimental,” Pierce said. “But this is a big moment for our greatest soldier. A good leader understands how to take advantage of team-building opportunities.” 

Unfamiliar blunt warmth pushed against the asset’s hole and shoved its way in, inexorable. He could feel the brush of fabric from Pierce’s pants on his inner thighs and his body strained around this intrusion. 

It felt thick and unreasonably hot, in the same false way that wounds sometimes burned. He moved his hips in the very limited range of motion the restraints allowed him, shifting around the dick inside him. 

“Shhh, soldier,” Pierce said. His hand reached up to rub the skin at his hip, moving upward to slip a few fingers to soothe the already-chafing skin underneath the restraint. “All you have to do is take it. Your easiest assignment yet.” 

Pierce fucked him. It was neither fast nor slow—it was steady, like a metronome. His hips bumped hard between the asset's legs, making sure to press himself all the way in with every thrust. 

It felt hazily good, an indistinct pleasure building up under his skin. He worked the metal gag in his mouth and found himself breathing harder. His dick was getting heavier than it usually was, bringing his awareness even more sharply between his legs. 

“You’re going to take a lot,” he said, after a moment, effortlessly picking up the previous thread. The asset listened closely—Pierce liked to talk and he had learned that it was very important to pay attention. He tried to drag his mind away from what was happening to his body and keep it where it belonged—on Pierce.

His voice was thick and breathless in a way he didn’t recognize. It somehow made it more difficult to avoid thinking about the warmth in his gut. 

“Before long, it’s going to hurt. But change always does,” he said. “You should be grateful, really. You’ve been a machine for us for so long and I know that’s been hard for you. But this is the most human any of us will ever be, in moments like this. People pretend that the space program, a beautiful aria—that those are the things that make us.” 

He pressed in hard, twice in quick succession, the first irregular beat to his steady rhythm, and grunted, before starting back on a measured, if faster, pace. 

He was starting to sweat, the asset could distantly smell it, and the heat of his body made the spicy cologne he was wearing pick up in intensity. 

“You know better. You’ve spilled enough blood to realize that we’re all just bags of blood and bone and hormones. Humans are animals and they die like animals,” he said. “Now, you’re going to find out the other ways in which we are animals.” 

He thrust heavily enough that the asset’s whole body jerked back and forth, the rim of his ass catching and dragging on the growing knot at the base of Pierce’s dick. His dick deep in the asset, he ground his hips. The asset shivered and clenched around it, without thought. 

That pushed a puff of air out of Pierce’s lungs and he rocked his dick back out a little—out of the corner of the asset’s eye he could see his shoulder move and he felt the side of Pierce’s hand push against his hole as he gripped his own knot. 

He came without any noise. The asset felt it in him, hot and wet. He was hyper-aware of the feel of it—in fact, of all his body. It was an unfamiliar awareness, distinct from the fluid control of combat. The air on his naked skin felt like ants, crawling up and down his body. His mouth was dry, but his chin was wet from drool. He moved his tongue, uselessly pushing the muscle against the metal holding his mouth open. 

In a couple more moments, Pierce pulled out. Without the cock inside him, the ache and sting of the intrusion became more vivid. 

He heard Pierce put his dick back in his pants and buckle himself up. 

“Okay,” he said. “Get to work. Send word up to my office when people are ready to go home for the night.” 

There was a murmur of agreement. He left. 

“Dibs,” someone said immediately. and after a rustling, another cock was shoved in the asset’s hole. 

“Oh, fuck, he’s still tight,” he groaned. 

“You better say he’s loose and sloppy,” someone laughed. “Don’t want to insult the boss’s dick.” 

“He’s gonna be,” he said. 

The man fucked him briskly, faster than Pierce. 

“Hurry up.” 

“He’s got another hole.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

More sounds of uniforms being unbuckled and then someone was at his head. He flipped a latch that was supporting the head piece and it fell backward. When the asset didn’t let his neck go loose, he was roughly pushed into position. 

The man fed the asset his cock. The taste was startling and intense—he had only tasted nutrient shakes for a very long time and the animal specificity of it was enough to make him hungry, in the most literal sense. Flavor was not a normal part of his life. He sucked as best he could with the gag in and the man moaned. 

“Oh, he’s already thirsty for it,” he said. “He’s going to take to being a bitch well.” 

He seemed excited by the thought and it got his hips moving faster, fucking the asset’s face in counterpoint with the man in his ass. 

The asset felt overwhelmed, unable to control his breathing. Liquid seeped from his eyes and he felt his nose start to run. 

He choked at a particularly hard thrust and that sent laughter around the room. 

The man in his mouth came first—bitter and sharp, but still fascinating. He kept his knot well away from the metal gag, avoiding getting pinched, so the taste was heavy on the asset’s tongue. A man took his place. The man in his ass came and was replaced. 

This new cock was thick and fucked him brutal. The stretch of it pressed against his insides in a way that just lit him up, making him shudder and stretch. He felt his own dick get fully hard, start to ache a little. 

“Look at this,” in delight. 

“Give him a hand, dude.” 

“You do it,” he said. “I’m not like that.” 

“I’ll happily volunteer, creature’s got a nice dick.” 

And then a hand wrapped around his dick, firm and lightly lubricated. The burst of unexpected pleasure convulsed the asset’s muscles, bucking him up against the restraints hard enough that the table creaked. 

More laughter; they were laughing at him a lot. It actually felt nice, in an odd way—he was more used to fear. 

He came quickly, gurgling around the dick in his mouth. The noise made the laughter louder and someone tried to imitate it, scornful. The person touching him wiped his come off against his abs. 

The asset barely softened, but they seemed to lose interest in his pleasure. No one replaced the hand around his cock. 

They kept fucking him. They kept coming. 

After a few men, a female alpha took her place at his head. She pushed her pants all the way down her hips. 

“Nice ass.” 

“Fuck off.” 

He could smell her pussy, rich and more familiar, but with the same powdery alpha undertone. She rubbed herself against his face, smearing liquid on his cheekbones and chin. She tilted his face so that she could push her vaginal hole hard against his chin, grinding a little, while she worked her dick up to its full length out of the clitoral sheath. 

He heard her make a small pleased noise and he took the small initiative to press up against her. The noise in her chest grew into a moan and he was pleased with himself. 

She fed him her dick, smaller but more satisfying for it. It didn’t choke him or cut off his air. He could really taste it. 

Her hands gripped both of his ears and she used his mouth and nose simultaneously, his whole face turned into an instrument of her pleasure. 

She came with a sigh, right down his throat and gushing against his skin simultaneously. He felt himself drip with it. 

“Thanks,” she said. There was a smile in her voice. “Next up?” 

A man replaced her.

* * *

They had taken him from his cell right after the guard changed at six am. Since then, he had taken more dicks than he could count. 

He was long since soft. Come from one or two orgasms in the early hours of the day was dried and cracking on his belly. Every part of him ached and chafed. 

His skin was raw underneath the restraints, his constant shifting and movement rubbing enough that his accelerated healing was unable to keep up. His ass was swollen and red-hot, every thrust now burning the tender skin. 

They had tried to keep him hydrated, occasionally interrupting the dicks in his mouth with squirts from a water bottle, but his lips were still cracked enough to bleed. When they noticed that, they had some small mercy and took out the gag. 

He was whimpering constantly, at this point. When they gave him the use of his mouth, he begged—“please, please”—before someone slapped him sharp and loud and told him to shut up. 

The asset followed the order as best he could, but he was so tender in such an unfamiliar way that he couldn’t keep as silent as he should. 

The room had filled and emptied in tides, people from around the Triskelion building coming in to take their turn and then leaving again for their normal daily business. Many of them came several times over the course of the day, their noises and feel becoming familiar to him. Some lingered for hours on the edges of the room, watching. He had smelled several people’s lunches, leading to jokes about dinner and a show. He had heard the clicking of laptop keys and when people realized that they could set up camp in the lab to get their jobs done, someone dragged in a couple of big card tables. The room was more steadily full, after that. 

Most of the people were alphas, having to keep their knots outside of his body when they came. By now he had figured that was the point, to fill him to bursting with alpha come. But betas used him too and even one omega male, who used the table to support one of his legs as he ground his slick hole into the asset’s mouth. 

“Fun, huh?” he had said to the asset. “You’re a lucky guy. I didn’t get this many volunteers.” 

He could only remember moments like that in the overwhelming amount of sensation and input. His days awake at base were usually quiet, in a bare cell only intermittently interrupted by training and food. The experience of this many people was new. 

Now, though, the lab was almost empty. It had to be late. 

The man between his legs grunted and his hips stuttered into the asset, coming. It was someone who had been there before. 

“Perfect timing,” he heard Pierce say and something like relief washed over his skin. Recognition, maybe. 

“Sir,” the man said, breathless and off-balance. 

“Shop’s closed,” Pierce said. “I’ll get him ready for the night, the rest of you can go home.” 

He knew that there was at least one person who had been waiting his turn—he had heard the cell-phone conversation with an unknown woman, heard him tell her that he was going to be home late. Work emergency, he had said. 

But not even that man complained. They all left. It was him and Pierce. 

His hole was both loose and swollen, feeling used, sloppy, slack. He had a cramp building in his gut and he felt full, even in these few breaths without a cock in him. 

“Hey there,” Pierce said. “Let’s get you more comfortable.” 

Pierce moved the table he was strapped to so that the asset was almost sitting up, putting his hips finally lower than his head. There was a woozy, dizzy moment as blood streamed down from his skull. 

Pierce smiled down at him. He was in his shirtsleeves, his suit jacket draped over a carelessly abandoned chair. He looked at the asset and the asset looked back as he rolled up his sleeves and took off his tie. His movements were methodical. 

He sighed a little when he unbuttoned his collared shirt and rubbed at his own skin. 

“There. Now I’m more comfortable, too. Big day, huh?” 

The asset watched him, silent. 

“You’re very messy,” he said, same light amused tone in his voice. “No order for you right now. Plenty of pain, though, I bet.” 

He laughed. 

“You hurting, soldier? Answer.” 

“Yes,” he said. His voice was wrecked—almost voicelessly hoarse and the effort of speaking made his whole throat feel like fire. 

“I can help,” he said. He reached for a disposable injector pen, ready for him on the counter. 

Running his fingers delicately over the skin in his arm, he tapped at one of the asset’s veins. Carefully, he stuck the needle in and injected. 

“We designed this just for you,” he said, intimate. “An old friend of yours helped.” 

After injecting him, Pierce waited, watching. 

In under a minute, he felt relief suffuse his body. The pain was still there, but it was swallowed up like shadows overwhelmed with a bright light. His muscles—which had been twitching and tense, relaxed into putty. Euphoria—that was the world, just pure pleasure. He had thought the orgasm had felt good, earlier, but this drowned that—this feeling chased away every bit of fear and discomfort he had experienced all day (all century) and left him cocooned in softness. His skin itched in a pleasant way, like he was swaddled, and the overwhelming awareness of his body transformed into something joyful. 

He gasped, immediately panting. 

“Yeah, there it is,” he said. “You needed today to really feel this good.” 

Pierce pushed back his hair from his face. He fished a small black band out of his pocket and carefully pulled all of the asset’s hair back into a bun. The tiny relief of cool air on skin that had hair sticking to it for hours only heightened how good he was feeling right now. 

“Our mutual friend refuses to use this drug anymore,” he said, now just stroking the asset’s hair. “He says it feels dangerously good. And it is going to hit you even harder, I bet, given your physiology. You like it?” 

“Yes,” the asset said. He didn’t remember not to answer. 

“That’s good,” Pierce said. He sounded pleased. “We don’t normally bother giving you painkillers. You’re a tough guy—I bet if you had any mind at all right now, you could remember people fishing bullets out of your belly with nothing more than something to bite down on. But I figured that tonight would be a good time to make you feel really good, huh? You should learn to associate this with feeling this good.” 

He usually was able to pay pretty close attention when Pierce spoke, but right now the words dipped in and out of his awareness. The glow underneath his skin was more important—he craned his eyes a little, to look at his hand. He was surprised to see that he was not literally illuminated from the inside. 

“Soldier,” Pierce said, sharp. The asset snapped his attention back to Pierce’s face, but he could feel that his expression was dreamy and glazed. 

The scolding set to his expression evaporated when Pierce looked at him. He smiled. The asset smiled back, lips stretching against their injuries. Pierce reached out and rubbed two fingers against his mouth and the asset opened up immediately, took them in and sucked. 

“There you go,” he said. “I knew you’d take to this.” 

After a moment, he snagged the asset’s tongue between his fingers and pulled it out of his mouth. The asset let him. Pierce moved his whole face, using just his tongue. 

“I was going to feed you first, but I really have to fuck you. How does that sound?” 

“Okay,” the asset said, garbled, careful not to move his tongue away from Pierce’s hold.

“Okay?” Pierce laughed. “Okay. I really have to remember to stop with the rhetorical questions right now." 

Pierce released his tongue and took his dick out. He pressed himself in, but didn’t stay upright like he did before. As his cock sunk into the asset’s body, he let his body cover him, push him down. The asset liked it. Whatever the drug was Pierce gave him, it transformed the intense burn of yet another cock into ecstatic pleasure. He moaned, low and drawn out, and rocked against him. 

“Oh?” Pierce said, rolling his hips slow and easy into him. “Maybe this is one of the reasons that the captain didn’t want to keep using this.” 

Pierce fucked him like that, barely moving his hips out of the asset’s body and more swaying them both together in a gentle rhythm. The asset loved it—was loud in a way he hadn’t been all day. He didn’t dare use words to ask for more, but he begged in all the ways he’d let himself.

His body felt heavy on its own, and Pierce weighted him down even more. All together, it was like he was under an anchor in a vast ocean, sinking down and down, smothered by unfathomable mass. Even Pierce’s hot breath against his cheek was just another type of gravity. 

Pierce reached down between them and pressed down hard against the asset’s belly. The pressure made him aware of the swell of it, the unfamiliar way it bulged. He was so full, entirely full of countless loads of come—it distorted him, swelled him up. He was bigger for it.

The sound of Pierce’s cock going in and out of him was wet and sloshing, and he could feel liquid leak constantly down his thighs. Pierce reached further down to feel, rubbing his finger against the asset’s rim, and brought it to his nose to smell. 

“Not yet,” he murmured, and fed the asset his fingers to clean them off. 

Pierce didn’t pull out, when he started to come. His knot swelled in an inevitable way. The asset was stretched enough that he worried it might slip right out, so he clenched down around it. 

“Good boy,” Pierce said. “What a good bitch you’re going to be.” 

The asset sighed. He hadn’t come, but he felt satisfied, twinges of lingering pleasure shooting through his nerves. He closed his eyes and was on the edge of sinking totally into sleep when Pierce slapped him. 

It stung, but the asset just opened his eyes, blinking. 

“Let’s feed you, first.” Pierce said, amused. They were still knotted together and when Pierce leaned over, he felt the tug. Pierce grabbed several bars, wrapped in metallic white and red, and a bottle of colored water. The asset recognized the bars and he was pleased. 

Pierce unwrapped one and put it to the asset’s mouth. The asset eagerly took a bite, chewing and swallowing fast enough to choke. It was sweet, fatty, and tasted strongly of peanut butter. It was amazing and the asset took an even bigger bite for his second. 

He only got these bars in the rare circumstances where they didn’t have extended amounts of time to feed him. They were always a treat. 

“I forgot how much you liked these,” Pierce said, opening the second bar. “I should remember that. I bet you’d be trainable with food rewards.” 

The asset let the words pass him by, much more focused on the food. He ate six of them, from Pierce’s fingers. Every couple bites, Pierce gave him a sip of the weakly flavored water. When the last one was gone, he licked Pierce’s fingers clean, chasing the last bits of sweetness. 

“There,” Pierce said. “Three thousand calories will hold you over. Thank god for starving kids, right?” 

The asset blinked at him. Pierce laughed and tested the knot—it had gone down enough, or the asset was loose enough, that it came out, followed by a gush of come. 

Pierce buckled himself back up, but his pants had large dark splotches of stains from all the come the asset leaked. 

“You are welcome to fall asleep, if you want to,” Pierce said, going again to the counter to retrieve a tube and a plastic pouch of liquid. “I’m just going to make sure you stay full. Not enough to cramp, of course. But as much as we are going to try the natural way, your body is going to need all the help it can get.” 

Pierce pushed a nozzle into the asset’s ass and squeezed liquid up into him. It filled him steadily, even though he was already full. He watched his stomach inflate before his eyes, the pouch at his belly going bigger and more rounded, skin stretching taut. It was intense and almost painful, even under the overwhelming cushion of the drug. 

And Pierce filled him more, until he looked pregnant, until he looked like he was going to pop. It was an intense enough strain that his eyes watered and he couldn’t stand looking at it anymore, throwing his head back. 

Finally, finally, he was full enough. Pierce stopped adding liquid. He replaced the novel with a plug, big and thick enough that even his stretched out ass was stopped up. 

“Do you think you can sleep like this?” Pierce asked, rubbing his palm against the asset’s distended stomach and making him whimper. The asset considered and felt a cramp building, a tight pain that made him twitch his hips. He shook his head no. 

“Okay,” Pierce said. He reached for another injector. The asset felt the prick of a needle and moments later, the world went black.

* * *

He woke the next morning to a dick in his ass. 

He hurt, he hurt, he hurt. His ass felt like it had been abraded with sandpaper and broken glass, his muscles were tense and he had a fierce headache. He didn’t thrash, though he wanted too—it was a deeply felt instinct to go still when he was in pain, like an animal. 

They noticed anyway. 

“He’s awake,” someone said. 

“Stick him.” 

Another needle in his skin and he fell unconscious again, the movement of the dick in his ass rocking him down.

* * *

When he woke up later that day, he was plugged. Nobody was touching him. 

His belly was distended, but not as far as it had been the previous night. 

“His levels are high,” a woman said. “But he hasn’t reached the tipping point yet. It’s actually incredible. The literature on this suggests that a normal beta would only need around ten injections of alpha come in a concentrated time to make the transition.”

“You’ve seen him lift a car,” Pierce said. “And take three bullets without stopping. Why do you think endocrine system would be any more flexible?” 

“He’s four times stronger than a normal person,” she said. “He heals approximately eight times faster. But he’s taken well in over twenty times the amount of hormones that should be required.” 

“The serum doesn’t want its holder to be a bitch,” Pierce said. He shrugged. “We’ll get it done. Isn’t that right, soldier? Answer.” 

“Yes,” he said.

* * *

The next day, they took him off the table to bathe him off and let him relieve himself. A technician wiped him down. The touch felt sweet on his abused skin, but the asset found himself wishing that Pierce was there to do it. 

They tried fucking him without drugging him, under the theory—which one technician dismissively referred to as an old wives tale—that the feeling of being fucked was as important for the transformation as the hormones in the semen. 

But when the first person went, he couldn’t stop himself from crying out, hoarse and desperate. It hurt like he was dying, in this ripping intimate way that he’d never experienced. Torture wasn’t this, normal wounds weren’t this. This was being torn apart from the inside. 

They tried to shut him up. They hit him in punishment, but he didn’t stop. They tried bribing him with a piece of the peanut butter meal replacement and he tried—but one harsh jerk made him scream. 

They gagged him, but he yelled around the gag, choking on his own spit enough that vomit rose in the back of his throat. 

“He’s going to aspirate,” someone said urgently and they took out the gag. 

He panted, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and staying very still, as if they would forget that he was there. 

At this, they drugged him. Not enough that he would go unconscious again, but so that he was floating. The sense of violation remained, but the drug placed a buffer between it and whatever remained of himself, enough that he could just take it. 

And he took it. 

“Soldier,” Pierce said, walking in. The asset tried to sit up a little to see him, but the man who was fucking him pushed him back down. 

“No need to get up,” Pierce said and a technician laughed. 

Pierce held a vial in his hand. 

Looking at one of the women who had been testing the asset’s blood at regular intervals, he said, “I’m here to test a theory.” 

“What’s that, sir?” she said. 

“Super sperm from a super alpha,” he said. “Looks like we did a _full_ set of tests when we defrosted the other guy. Maybe this is just what we need to push our soldier here over the edge. Maybe he’ll recognize the taste, who knows!” 

“Shouldn’t we save it to inseminate him later?” she asked. 

He waved it off, pulling up a chair to sit next to the asset’s head. 

“If we never bitch him, we’ll never be able to breed him,” Pierce said. “And the big guy’s easily steamrolled into things. We’ll just get a pretty omega nurse to insist and he’ll blush so hard he won’t notice when he’s said yes.” 

Pierce was still talking to the technician, but his eyes were focused on the asset’s face. He reached out and rubbed a tear track off of his skin with his thumb, touch gentle. 

“You want this to be over with, don’t you?” he said. 

The asset nodded, tears welling up in his eyes at just the thought. 

“It will be,” he said. “We've just got to get your silly body to give in. It doesn’t know what you are, now. It’s confused.” 

His voice was coaxing. The asset wished he knew how to give in, because he would immediately. 

Pierce unscrewed the vial and dipped a finger in. He held it up to the asset’s face and the asset shifted to bring it into his mouth until Pierce made a scolding sound to stop him. 

“Smell first,” he said, holding his glistening finger to the underside of the asset’s nose. 

The asset smelled. It was salt and ammonia. At this point, it was familiar—hard to differentiate from the semen he has been marinating in for the last couple days. He breathed deep, though, trying to take whatever magic it held into his body. 

After several moments, Pierce pushed his finger into the asset’s mouth and let him lick it off. He curled his tongue around the finger, trying to get every last drop. 

“That’s good,” Pierce said. “I’m glad you’re eager. When you change, you’ll feel so much better.” 

He fed the asset the semen like that in excruciatingly small portions, just whatever his fingers took with them from a brief dip into the vial. Every time, the asset licked and licked until he only tasted Pierce’s skin. 

Several men fucked the asset, coming in him and cycling through, before Pierce was scraping at the bottom of the tube. 

“I’m impressed with the volume,” Pierce said, idly. “I wish there was a way to get more loads. But hopefully this will push us over the top.” 

He held the empty vial to the asset's face and had him lick that too, sticking his tongue in and seeking out every possible trace from the hard plastic. The vial was crystal clear when Pierce finally let him stop. 

Pierce wiped his hand off in the asset’s hair and then stood, scratching his nails a little against his scalp. 

“Okay,” he said. “I have work to do. Russia is not going to take this project as an excuse. Let me know immediately if he turns.” 

He left and the asset, of course, stayed with the rest of them. 

Time passed. The asset was too high to easily follow each new event, everything blurring together, but over the course of the afternoon he felt a slow swell in his body. It built deep in his gut, a strange sort of pain and relief intermingled. It felt like unfolding, like what it felt like to stand up for the first time after they kept him in the trunk of a car for a long journey. 

The feeling unfurled and spiraled outward, swelling from the tender parts inside him where he was battered and full to push on the inside of his skin and into the tips of his fingers and toes. He felt heat, and tingling, and there was blood rushing in his ears.

The harsh overhead light stripped him raw, suddenly, left him exposed. For the first time, he was viscerally aware of how vulnerable he was, how his soft pink body was there for anyone to see and anyone to use. He felt fear like a flutter in his chest and it was indistinguishable from a flutter deeper in his torso, right in the base of his hips. 

He had been covered in fluids for days but then, sudden, he felt a gush. This liquid was his own, created by him and responding to what was now an overwhelming stench of alpha. It smelled like musk and animal fur, primal and transcendent—there was something to it that had the twist of waste in his nose, but instead of disgust it built desire like a caress, warming and soft like the sueded underside of unfinished leather. It was raw and tugged at his spine, the inoffensive powdery note that had previously meant alpha to him entirely banished. 

He could differentiate variants from different people in the room. One had a sharpness that was not quite pine but made him think of trees—another, faintly floral, like pepper. None of them smelled like anything other than themselves, like this pungent musk, but the individuated notes glinted like reflections on the shape of the smell. He moaned, helpless, and his toes curled. 

“Hey—“ someone said. “Look at that.” 

He felt a clinical touch at his hole. 

“Take his blood—“ 

A needle, once again. 

“Someone call the boss, let him know we did it.” 

He smiled, victorious, and waited to find out what Pierce would smell like.


End file.
